


Julia Argent, You know, the Archivist?

by oliverthelongfurby



Category: Carmen Sandiego (Cartoon 2019), The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen, No beta we look for our keys like Dexter Wolfe
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-04
Updated: 2021-02-04
Packaged: 2021-03-16 08:41:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29204511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oliverthelongfurby/pseuds/oliverthelongfurby
Summary: My name is Julia Argent. As you may have heard, I am the new head archivist of The Magnus institute. Or, the new archivist at the time of recording. I may be dead by the time you listen to this.—A TMAxCS au fueled by spite and the fact that I cannot sleep at night.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 7





	Julia Argent, You know, the Archivist?

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, friends. I’ve talked about writing this, but didn’t actually expect to ever do this?? So if it crashes and burns, I suppose that’s what it’ll do. In all seriousness, thank you to the folks on the Carmen Sandiego 2.2 Discord for inspiring me to write this. You all are awesome.  
> CW for claustrophobia, survivors guilt

Chapter One

[Click]

Julia: Good- morning. Gah. That was awkward. Let me try again.

[Click]

\--

Julia stared at the tape recorder. It was only her third day as head archivist of The Magnus Institute, and she already felt FAR out of her league.

\--

[Click]

Julia: Good morning. To… whoever listens to these tapes. I heard some interns listen to them. I mean, I doubt they’d expect a greeting- but- nevertheless.

My name is Julia Argent. As you may have heard, I am the new head archivist of The Magnus institute. Or, the new archivist at the time of recording. I may be dead by the time you listen to this.

Sorry, that wasn’t funny.

The date is… what is the date? The date is…

[Rustling of papers]

The date is August fourteenth, 2015. It’s bloody hot. But that’s not really important.

So… anyway. On to… what I am doing. My name is Julia Argent- I already said that, didn’t I.

[Sigh]

Apologies- I’m… usually much more organized than this. The last head archivist, Parisa Zari, left things in… quite a state of disarray. I suppose there’s a chance she was going to clean things up before she…

[clears throat]

Apologies- I- 

The last head archivist, Parisa Zari, unfortunately passed away two weeks ago. With no assistants, I was chosen as her replacement.

The head of the institute, Tamara Fraiser, has assigned me three assistants, Zack Rose, Ivy Rose, and Aisha James. To be honest, I’m not one hundred percent certain on Zack’s… qualifications. He’s certainly good with field work, but there’s far more… involved to be an archival assistant.

[sigh]

I suppose it’s not like we get much work here anyway. Most of the legitimate stuff is cleared up in research, the archives is mostly for cases that can’t be proved or disproved either way and require further research. 

I worked in research for six years, and I was happy with it, but this won’t be bad. I think. Maybe.

We also have to take statements. Most of the statement givers that come in here are paranoid, mentally ill, or liars. Which makes actually dealing with statements tedious.

Anyway, I’ve gotten off topic. Parisa Zari didn’t make digital copies of statements which is… annoying. It means that my job will be… much harder. I suppose we may never be able to pick up the slack from where she left off, and that may be left to the next archivist. If so, apologies.

I appreciate Aisha and Ivy’s work, even if they are a little unprofessional at times, but I suppose that is to be expected from any job. 

Anyway, onto the first statement, I suppose.

Statement of Antonio Garcia, regarding a strange cave. Original statement given April 14th, 2008.

Statement begins.

I- uh- hello. Apologies for the hassle- I just- my hands shake too much to write properly.

This story starts about two years ago- I can’t quite remember the date. Me and my boyfriend, Jean-Paul, had decided to go caving. I’ve always enjoyed caving- I- I find a nice rhythm to it. I used to shoplift quite a bit and I always used the sewer systems to run away. I know, quite cliche, but people actually hardly think to look for shoplifters when they've escaped using non-traditional means. 

Oh- crap. Don’t go to the police with that. 

Anyway, that’s not the point. The point is, when I discovered a cave system called the Saint Celia caves in Spain, close to where I was living, I was very excited. It was a small cave system, with a main cave branching off to three smaller ones. But it was well charted and fairly cheap and easy to get to, so I started researching what I’d need for the trip.

So yeah- about- four? Three? Months later, me and Jean-Paul set off. We went on a rainy day, so there weren’t any people there, which was fine.

We hiked around the caves for a while, and after a few hours, stopped for lunch. That’s when- that’s when things- things got weird. When we got back up to explore the last cave, there was a bit of a drop down. I expected this, so I hooked up the rope and climbed down with Jean-paul. It was pretty dark in the last cavern- but it was the only one without natural light- so it just made sense, I guess.

So I turned on the first flashlight. And it didn’t work. But I brought spares, so I tried the second one. And then the third one. None of them worked.

I was ready to call it a day, so I turned back around to Jean-Paul. I called- i called out to him. He didn’t respond. I thought maybe he’d gone back already, or never had climbed down, so I reached back for the rope. And then I realized it was gone.

I was starting to freak out, so I thought maybe I’d just gotten a little turned around. So I reached forward to feel around for the wall, and the, I released I was stuck. There- there wasn’t enough room for me to turn around.

And then I reached for my phone, and when I touched my pockets there was- only sand.

My pockets were filled with sand.

I panicked. I started to shift around in the cave, desperate for any way to get out, and all I felt was cold rock and loose soil on every side. I started to realise, if I moved, all the dirt would come free and suffocate me.

So I screamed for help. I’m not sure why I thought that would be better- noise can cause avalanches just as easily as motion- but it didn’t matter anyway. The words weren’t out of my mouth when the dirt slipped in between my teeth.

I was so terrified. I’d heard of people that got trapped in the caves and never made it out. I knew I’d never get out alone, that my best chance of rescue was to wait.

So I did.

I waited for five days, my only thoughts were my own panic mirrored back at me. I feel guilty for not thinking of Jean-Paul, but those thoughts wouldn’t have done anything except make it worse.

I couldn’t keep track of time, and I didn’t eat or sleep.

There was a voice- that kept repeating in my head.

It just kept saying, “When the sand shifts, you’ll be devoured.”

I- couldn’t really make sense of it. I still don’t, honestly. It’s so basic, but said in a rather poetic way. But it was the only sound I heard besides the crunching of rock and pebbles inches away from my face.

I expected my oxygen to run out any second- but it- it didn’t.

Then, the ground shifted, and I fell.

I was so scared. But I was also ready to- to accept I was- going to die. I didn’t want to suffer anymore. So instead of struggling, I let the earth consume me.

I woke up in a river afterward. Some teenagers in a local village found me and took me to a hospital. What- what really messes with me is- there WAS no river nearby. Not for another ten miles- and believe me- I’ve checked.

I ended up getting treated for rib bruising. Not nearly as bad as I deserved- but I was too shaken up to talk for another few days. When I finally did, I told the doctors how I’d been caving and about Jean-Paul, and they told me Jean-Paul had never been found.

He’s probably dead. It’s my fault. If I hadn’t decided to go caving… he never liked it as much as I did. And now he’s… gone.

I’m sorry- I- you don’t want to hear me cry about things you have no interest in, frankly.

What was more interesting was that… the cave wasn’t real. 

I tried to pull up the documents on my computer when I returned, but… yeah. They were gone. 

I ended up getting investigated for Jean-Paul’s disappearance, but there was no proof either way that I had anything to do with it directly and all links just followed back to him disappearing when we went caving. I did try to go back to the cave, but besides the entrance, it was filled with sand and rocks.

Yeah. So that’s my story. I don’t really have anything to do anymore. I feel… drawn to tight places. I want to be underground again. I just wish something horrible hadn’t happened.

Statement ends.

[Click]

[Click]

I had Aisha go through the records to see if there was any information on this case already. There wasn’t. Not surprising, due to the fact it happened in a foreign country, those cases are always annoying to research, but I figured we’d at least try to figure something out.

Ivy went through the disappearances that year in Spain. It was difficult, seeing that Antonio didn’t actually provide a last name for Jean-Paul or his place of residence, but we eventually found a record that matched the description given us. Jean-Paul Moreau, went missing March 22nd, 2006. He’d told close family he was going on a caving trip with his boyfriend, and never returned. Presumed dead, though I couldn’t actually find much information, seeing as this happened in Spain.

I tried to investigate the cave. Unfortunately, without an actual location for the cave or at least a name of the town, there’s nothing I can do. 

We tried to get in touch with Antonio again, but the number and email he provided are both out of use.

As unfortunate as this case is, it does happen. Antonio likely went caving with his boyfriend, the cave caved in on him, the floor gave out, he ended up going through an underground river and as a trauma response, his mind mixed up the details of this story. As for the voice, that can likely be equated to stress.

Recording ends.

[Click]

**Author's Note:**

> I will likely alternate between the tapes and character POVs. If you dislike that, idk what to tell you, you clicked on the fic. Anyway, Stan the one unnamed acme agent whom I dubbed Aisha James because the Netflix subtitles kept calling her agent zari and not giving her her own name. That was very much not cool.
> 
> This doesn’t have any sort of post schedule, because my mind is a maze I cannot navigate and also I have very bad anxiety that puts me in bed for days, but I will try to post at least once every two weeks. However, if you’ve looked at my other fics, you can see how well that’s going. Anyway, If it’s past midnight, go to sleep.


End file.
